History runs deep at Quincy family’s service station

Monday

Mason’s Shell on Hancock Street, which began as an Esso station on a triangular patch of asphalt just south of Wollaston, has now spanned four generations of this Quincy family’s involvement.

When Paul Mason Jr. was a kid, his after-school ritual was a little different from other middle schoolers.

With a tire gauge in one hand and a squeegee in the other, Mason was getting schooled in the family business – checking air in car tires and washing windows. When he was a little older, he started pumping gas, too.

“I’d have my mom drop me off, and I’d always come up here,” said Mason, now a burly 22-year-old mechanic.

It was the same coming of age for Mason’s father and uncles and cousins. They are part of a clan that has run an unassuming gas station and repair garage on Hancock Street since 1946.

Mason’s Shell, which began as an Esso station on a triangular patch of asphalt just south of Wollaston, has now spanned four generations of this Quincy family’s involvement.

“I started here in 1966, and my pay was five dollars for the day,” said John Stevens. “I was 14 years old. It was my first job, and it might be my last, full circle,” Stevens said.

Stevens, gently ribbed by the younger Mason for his tendency to gab, is one of the offspring – a cousin to Mason’s father, Paul Mason Sr., 54, who operates the station.

No surprise, a sense of history and a deep strain of loyalty stick to this place like grease: You can’t wash it away.

And just about everything you see comes packaged with a good yarn – from the 1930 Model A Ford parked out front to the shiny red 1941 tractor sitting on the edge of the lot.

The Masons all point to family patriarch, Forest L. Mason, as the man who really steered them into this line of work. The great-grandfather to the 22-year-old is credited with founding the auto mechanics department at the old Quincy Trade School in 1924.

“Grampy could fix anything,” said Stevens. “He was so methodical, one-two-three. Everything was just perfect.”

It was the teacher’s son, Forest Mason Jr., who started the Esso station, but the father pitched in, too, when he wasn’t at the school’s auto shop.

And the Mason men definitely inherited a penchant for fixing up antique contraptions. The 82-year-old black Model A, parked prominently at the sidewalk, belonged to a customer who called on the Mason boys every summer to start it up.

“He always knew I wanted it,” said Paul Mason Sr., but the gift of the Model A came with strings attached. The owner had promised a girl in the neighborhood that he would drive her to her wedding in the old car.

A few years after Mason was given the Model A, the previous owner died and Mason made good on the promise.

“We drove her to her wedding. I picked her up and drove her to St. Ann’s church,” he said.

The car’s upholstery is original, a moss green velour. “That was $775, the deluxe model,” said the older Mason.

His son drove to upstate New York two years ago to buy the 1941 Farm-All tractor and spent a year fixing it up. There’s not a farm for miles, but Paul Jr. likes the countryside.

“I grew up in the wrong place. I’m not like wicked city,” he said. “All my friends make fun of me because I like tractors and camping.”

But for a guy who yearns for farmland, the family gas station on a city street is where he feels very much at home, bantering with longtime customers and working alongside his father.

“There’s lots of regulars. It’s nice,” he said.

The connection runs deep. Often, the Masons shoulder the task of calling up the children of one of their aging customers to suggest it is time for the parent to hang up the keys.

Or when a car is in the shop, they field a call like this one from a customer’s son: “‘It’s time we get mom and dad off the road. Whatever you do, don’t hook up that battery,’” Paul Jr. recalled.

Customer loyalty brings a funny side-effect – occasional apologies.

“More than a couple times a customer comes in and says, ‘I needed gas so I threw 10 bucks in somewhere else. I’m sorry.’ It’s like they’re at confession or something,” said Paul Jr.

On Wednesday, father and son worked together on a snow blower that needed new bearings. Paul Sr. aimed a blowtorch and Paul Jr. gripped a chisel and hammer. Sparks flew, followed by the din of steel hammer blows.

“Being able to work with my son,” said Paul Sr., “there aren’t too many guys fortunate enough to have that.”

Christopher Burrell may be reached at cburrell@ledger.com.

READ MORE about this issue.

Never miss a story

Choose the plan that's right for you.
Digital access or digital and print delivery.